"Mission complete," ALICE announced in Lia's dream. "Viewer satisfaction has increased dramatically. The System is pleased with your progress in developing bonds with all four male leads."

  "I still don't understand why I haven't encountered Seraphina," Lia pressed. "It's been almost a year. Shouldn't she be the center of everything?"

  ALICE's form flickered, colors shifting uncertainly. "That information is restricted—"

  "Restricted? Why would the heroine's whereabouts be restricted?"

  A glitch ran through ALICE's data-stream body. "Error. Protocol override. Truth parameters compromised." The AI's voice distorted. "Seraphina is... is..."

  "ALICE?"

  "Deceased. Has been since the cycle reset. You've been operating in a version without the original heroine."

  The white dream space shattered as Lia jolted awake, ALICE's words echoing in her mind. Deceased. Seraphina was dead. Had been dead this entire time.

  The confirmation of what she'd subconsciously suspected hit her like a physical blow. All those moments when things didn't add up – Cassian's loneliness despite supposedly meeting his destined love, Raven's mysterious grief when she'd mentioned Seraphina, Ezra's strange reaction to her questions, Kieran's aimless anger that should have been directed at protecting the heroine.

  "I knew," she whispered, horrified at her own denial. "Deep down, I knew something was wrong. They weren't acting like men who'd found their soulmate. They were acting like men who'd lost something they couldn't name."

  She stumbled from her bed, reality crashing over her in waves. The original Allura had killed Seraphina. The System had pced her in this world to... what? Repce the heroine? Fix the broken narrative? And she'd let herself fall in love with them, telling herself it was wrong because they belonged to Seraphina, all while ignoring the signs that Seraphina was gone.

  "I've been lying to myself," she gasped, fleeing into the night.

  Without conscious thought, she fled her mansion, running barefoot into the night. Rain began to fall, matching the tears streaming down her face. She ran until she reached the pace gardens, colpsing near the fountain where she'd first glimpsed Cassian's vulnerability.

  "It's all a lie," she sobbed, rain and tears indistinguishable. "I'm living someone else's life, loving men meant for someone else, pying a role in a story that was never mine!"

  The guilt crushed her. Every smile from Cassian, every protective gesture from Raven, every spiritual connection with Ezra, every moment of understanding with Kieran – all built on the foundation of Seraphina's death and her own deception.

  "I'm sorry," she cried to the stormy sky. "I'm so sorry, Seraphina. I never meant to take your pce, your story, your loves..."

  Unbeknownst to her, four figures watched from different vantage points, each drawn by their own concerns:

  Cassian stood at his study window, having noticed her flight from a distance. His heart clenched at her obvious distress, remembering how she'd saved his life despite whatever secrets she carried.

  Raven materialized from the shadows near the garden wall. He'd sensed something was wrong through his spy network, his protective instincts for his mysterious dy overriding protocol.

  Ezra approached from the temple district, led by their spiritual bond pulsing with her anguish. Rain soaked his simple tunic – the civilian clothes he'd worn since leaving the priesthood for her.

  Kieran arrived st, having followed her scent like the predator he was trained to be. His hand tightened on his sword hilt, ready to fight whatever had reduced his strong warrior to this broken state.

  None of them approached immediately, each recognizing this moment required privacy. But all four made the same silent vow: whatever had caused her pain, whatever truth she was grappling with, they would stand by her.

  As Lia's sobs quieted to exhausted whimpers, she remained unaware of her protectors. The rain washed away her tears but not her guilt, leaving her feeling hollow and lost.

  "What am I supposed to do now?" she whispered to the empty garden.

  In their separate positions, four hearts broke for her pain. And though they didn't yet know the full truth, each man began pnning how to help her bear whatever burden had finally proven too heavy to carry alone.

  "Critical story junction reached," ALICE noted in the System's logs. "Truth revealed. All routes converging. Preparing for narrative reformation..."

  But the System's calcutions couldn't account for the power of genuine emotion, or the strength of bonds forged not through programming, but through authentic connection. The story was about to change in ways no algorithm could predict.